


What a clown

by friendly_local_cryptid



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Coming Out, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pining Richie Tozier, Richie's glasses (IT), Self-Denial, The Hammock (IT), The Kissing Bridge (IT), Underage Smoking, r+e
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-01 11:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20814476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendly_local_cryptid/pseuds/friendly_local_cryptid
Summary: "Richie, do you like boys?"The rooftop seemed so much steeper now. He gripped furiously in breathless horror at the tiles, scrambling back, feeling himself sliding sliding sliding into the dark street below, into the sewers, into a blood red mouth glistening with row after row of broken glass teeth.He liked boys.





	1. some type of realization

**Author's Note:**

> This story is just me reflecting my own past experiences onto this poor kid, but hey. We all cope how we can. 
> 
> Chapter one is more of an introduction than anything, but I hope you like it anyways.

Richie was used to living in noise; hungry for laughter and attention, disgusted or disapproving or awkwardly amused, it didn't matter, it's what he fed off of. Everything had to be either producing or receiving or interacting with noise, in one way or another. A moment of silence that stretched for a little too long and he would start to feel the teeth inside his skull and his eyes inside their sockets and his knuckles like white pebbles in his fist. Not particularly uncomfortable, not painful, just there, existing in silence, and that wouldn't do. Self awareness wouldn't do at all. So he made noise. He created, restless, wherever he went. 

And then he met this kid, that he already kind of knew (which is to say, he had made noise around him and he'd received a lingering scowl and that had been kind of it), but he really met him and slowly, annoyingly, became friends with. And soon, his thirteen year old mind decided he had to give him the title of best friend, because that was, somehow, what he had become. 

And with this kid, Eddie, sometimes not making noise, sometimes just existing, made sense. And  _ that _ was uncomfortable, that was painful to realise. Because what the fuck. 

"Hey!" The glossy pages of his new comic book had gone suddenly blurry. 

"Hey."

Eddie held his glasses at arms reach, grinning stupidly. He couldn't currently see the grin, but he knew it was there, nicely printed into his voice. He lunged forward to get his glasses, and Eddie dived into the hammock with him, almost knocking both of them off, quickly becoming a tangle of limbs. 

"Give them back, asshole." 

"Or what?" 

Richie leaned towards him again, his anger bubbling lazily, still half in his comic book reading stupor. A hand against his chest stopped him easily, pushing back ever so slightly, and he could kind of see how Eddie was using his other hand to awkwardly place Richie's glasses on his nose, and  _ that _ made him feel a certain type of way again. He'd become self aware enough, in those moments of existence that he rarely allowed himself to have, that he  _ felt _ a certain type of  _ way _ around Eddie and that it was  _ wrong _ \- so he better keep making noise. 

"Or-" 

"What are you gonna do, Rich? You can't see shit." 

"I can still see what a pain in the ass you are." 

Eddie laughed, pushing back a little more, "You're powerless, moleboy." 

"Moles aren't actually blind, this isn't fucking… Wind in the Willows or whatever-" 

"Yes they are. They're blind. Like you."

"Do you see any moles walking around with little round spectacles, Eddie? Do you?" 

"They don't make glasses for moles, dipshit. That doesn't mean they aren't blind." 

"How do they even know?" 

"Who?" 

"Scientists. Did they ask a mole?" 

"Huh. How did they know  _ you _ were blind? 'Cause I'm sure you were experimented on as a kid."

"You're fucking hilarious, Kaspbrack. Give them back." 

"Come get them, Toz-" 

He lunged forward again, felt Eddie's hand press hard against his scrawny chest and give out, and he toppled on to him. Eddie gave out a little yelp of surprise as the hammock creaked a pained old warning and Richie reached for his glasses. That were still on Eddie's face, which was suddenly that much closer beneath his, looking simultaneously startled and challenging and bemused because he could see it now,  _ because he was that much closer _ . His fingers found the glasses of their own volition, palm pressed against the boy's ear, and he faltered. Because he was existing  _ so much _ right now and yet there was still noise. 

Eddie laughed, pushing back hard, and the hammock swung precariously as they changed roles. Eddie was practically straddling him. Well. What the fuck was  _ that _ feeling. He didn't have time to think about  _ that _ ,  _ that _ wasn't something he was supposed to think about at all,  _ that  _ was very dangerous and very not okay and why couldn't he fucking move, why couldn't he fucking  _ breathe- _

"Guys!" Bill's voice cut through the dusty golden light that burrowed into the hiding place at this time of the afternoon and suddenly they weren't alone, "Stop. You're going to f-f-fall off and break your necks."

"Let them", said Stan distractedly leafing through his bird guide. 

"Thanks, Stanley, love you too", Richie snatched the glasses off Eddie's nose and put them on, and Eddie stared at him, mouth ever so slightly open as he looked at his hands on Richie's chest, "What?"

"Huh?"

"You comfortable, Eds?"

"No, you fucking scarecrow."

"Then get the fuck off?" 

Eddie pushed him into the hammock again, just to make a point, and got up. 

  
  


That night… well. 

It was around 6 am and Richie Tozier opened his eyes. He felt a little woozy, somehow. He reached blearily for his glasses and froze. He felt a dampness between his legs and his breath caught in his throat.  _ Don't tell me I've fucking pissed myself. How fucking old am-  _

Oh. That- was new. A hazy image of Eddie Kaspbrak reformed at the front of his mind, smiling at him from above, bathed in amber sunlight and eyes glinting with mischievous wonder, pushing his own glasses onto his nose with a slow soft finger and other hand coming to rest on his clavicle. 

He remembers not quite breathing. He remembers existing. 

He suddenly wants to scream because this self awareness was becoming absolutely deafening. He feels so- just terrified. Petrified. So close to something horrifying and wonderful and that should remain out of reach. And he steadfastly ignores the prickling want in his chest and fingertips as he gets up, rushes to the shower pulling at the wasted elastic of his pajama pants and cries. 

***

"Hey, Richie! Hey!" 

Richie did something he hadn't done in a while. He took out his notebook and looked at the teacher. The teacher seemed genuinely unnerved and eyed him warily, losing track of his sentence. How Richie got such good grades was beyond anyone's comprehension, including Richie's. 

"Richie! Richie!" Eddie hissed. He heard him clack his tongue in annoyance. Then, lower, "What the fuck is he doing?" 

"We're in class, Eddie", Ben whispered back, probably much louder than he thought. 

"Yeah, exactly. What's he doing? Hey, dipshit!" 

"What?" He finally snapped his head around and immediately regretted it as a wave of nausea hit him square in the chest the second his eyes fell on the boy behind him. 

"Oh, he only answers to dipshit now, good to see some self awareness." 

"Fuck off", he grumbled, turning back around. 

"No, hey! Richie. Dipshit. C'mon." 

" _ What, _ Eddie?" 

"Did you see h- are you okay?" 

Fuck. He could tell. Could they all tell? Was he that obvious? Did everyone know? When were they going to tell him? Apart from Bowers, who insisted on him knowing, constantly, how much of a fucking  _ fa- _

"Richie?" Eddie's face was doing that thing he did a lot around him, where he wasn't sure if he should be laughing or genuinely worried. 

"Yeah. What do you want, Eds?"

"For you to stop fucking calling me that, to start-"

"Dipshit's fine but I can't call you Eds? My  _ wittle _ Eddie-bear?" 

"Fine", Eddie propped his face in his hands and looked mock-lovingly at him, "Sweetheart. Sugarplum. My cute- my- my precious little-"

"I don't feel well. Anymore", he got up, knocking painfully against the table, (Eddie finished, confused, "-shitbird?"), "I need the bathroom." 

"Tozier-", the teacher put down his book exasperatedly. 

"Pee pee. 'Scuse me, gents", he rushed out of the classroom, Eddie's worried stare following him all the way into the hallway. 


	2. Whispers on a rooftop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Richie, do you like boys?" 
> 
> (Richie shares his secret with someone over a cigarette on Bill's rooftop.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TW* for this chapter: mention of homophobic slurs, internalized homophobia and a panic attack. 
> 
> This is a few months after the last chapter, Richie's had a little time to think. 
> 
> Me crying over my own shitty fanfic because I'm projecting my own traumas and experience on to the characters? Absolutely. 
> 
> Hope you like it!

"Evening", he sang, pushing into Bill's bedroom, and throwing his school bag onto the bed, nearly hitting Mike square in the face. 

"Great, Richie's here", Eddie groaned, rolling away from him on the carpet. Richie was careful to thoroughly step on him on his way to the reading chair in the corner. 

"What, you want me to leave? Don't even pretend you're not thrilled to see me, sugar." 

"You're going to give me fucking diabetes."

"Because I'm so sweet?" 

"I hate you."

"You make no sense, Edward", Richie leaned down to tap on his nose with a finger, making Eddie's face scrunch up aggressively, “Cutie.”

"Hey, Richie, how was your aunt?", Bill smiled, leaning over to push his school bag off the bed with a thud. 

Richie had come to realise that if Eddie was the object of both his affections and infuriating nicknames and wild streams of consciousness, everything was okay, they were all safe. The issue lay in Eddie retaliating. If he just huffed in annoyance and rolled his eyes or blushed angrily, everything was great. If he exploded in an impressive stream of consciousness of his own, it was fine. If he, in one way or another, jokingly flirted back, it was a disaster. If Eddie decided to be the one initiating their back and forth, it was Richie’s doom; yet every time it happened, a crushing wave of happy nerves would wash over him and he found himself holding his breath and grinning at him like a fool. He shook his head as Eddie frowned at him from the floor. 

"Hello, Billy goat. 'Twas uneventful."

"That's new", said Stan from the far corner of the room, hands folded on his lap and looking like every portrait of a boyish old monarch, framed in rust and gold from the sunset streaming through the window. 

"Stan the man!" 

"That's not new." 

"Stan the nan?" 

"Naan? As in naan bread?" Asked Mike, throwing a bag of crisps in his general direction. It fell on Eddie, who Richie suddenly realised had crawled his way to the reading chair and was lying next to his feet. He gave him a little experimental kick as he reached for the crisps. 

"Nan as in Stan's a fucking grandma." 

"Respect the elderly, trashmouth", Eddie grabbed his foot and pulled until his disgusting old sneaker slipped off, with a little noncommittal 'hey' from the owner, and threw it under the bed, "Gross. Do you ever wash your feet? Have you ever even showered?" 

"I've used your mom's shower plenty of late nights." 

"Sorry, what? I don't speak sewer rat." 

Richie kicked him softly in the face and Eddie squealed in disgust. 

Beverly and Ben arrived a few minutes later. Eddie had made his home between Richie's legs, distractedly tying a line of knots into his shoelaces, and he was absolutely terrified to move them, feeling fidgety as he'd usually be sprawled on the bed by now, limbs in every which way.

They put on a movie. It was a horror movie that had been all the rave at school lately amongst the cool older kids, but they watched it with depersonalised apprehension that border lined on boredom. After everything they had lived that summer, horror had taken other meanings for them. Except for a scene where a slobbering decrepit zombie half eaten by flies jumped towards the camera and Richie felt Eddie's hand grasp his ankle in a death grip. It didn't move from there for the rest of the film and Richie stared at it, feeling actual tendrils of horror finally start to twist in his lower stomach. He didn't move, he didn't make noise. It was okay because _ it made sense _. It didn't make it any less terrifying. 

Later that night they all crowded onto Bill's bed. It felt oddly like a boat, and, fueled by sleep deprived sugar induced dizziness, Richie imagined them all slowly floating down a sunny stream, his and Beverly's feet paddling merrily into the cool water as Eddie voiced his hopes of him falling in all the while pulling at the back of his shirt. Cheeks flushed from the sun, skin his pretty apricot colour, mottled with freckles and stray droplets of cold river water, dark round eyes on him-

"-faggot." 

Richie snapped his head towards Bill. "What?" He breathed. 

"I s-said, Bower's called him a f-faggot." 

"Who?" 

Bill looked at him oddly and Richie felt his skin begin to scream. 

"Mr T-Thomas." 

"The preacher?" 

"Yes, Richie. W-Where were y-you at j-j-just now, dude?" 

"He can't call a preacher that", Eddie said, brow furrowed in concentration. 

"Why not?" Richie glanced around at the group, hyper aware of their eyes on him. 

"Why!? Because he's a preacher, Rich! He's not- he's not- _ that _." 

"He's not what?" 

Now they were all definitely staring at him. 

"He's not, you know", Eddie lowered his voice nervously, "gay." 

His head was swimming. There was no one holding on to the back of his shirt. 

"Then why would Bower's call him a f- a- that." 

"Because- because it's not nice, is it? He's trying to insult him. You know this shit, he's called you that pl-"

"Why isn't it nice, Eddie?" 

"... What?" Eddie blinked slowly at him, his breathing was becoming a little shallow, a little faster, and Richie hated the thought, _ hated _, that he might be the reason Eddie had an asthma attack right now. 

"I mean, why is it an insult? If Mr Thomas liked guys." 

"Because… he isn't gay", said Mike softly. Richie’s subconscious noticed how he’d said the word like it wasn’t that horrible, like having it on his tongue wouldn’t infect him, and subtly took note for later. Richie’s conscious was too busy screaming for him to shut his fucking mouth. 

"Okay, but _ why _ would that matter, why not call him a fucking asshole, which he _ is _ , why call him a f- _ fag _." 

Everyone was silent, except for Eddie's uneven breaths. Everyone was staring at him. His fucking mouth. It was a disease. 

"Because. Well, Bowers is a fucking idiot, isn't he?" Beverly said. She dropped her hand onto Richie's knee, and smiled at him. Richie felt how much she knew him, felt absolutely sick with it, "Anyway, I'm gonna go smoke. Anyone wanna come with?" 

That was a stupid question, Richie was the only one who smoked with her. He nodded anyway, because it was a clear invitation to run away from Eddie's unwavering stare, and he'd take it. 

They clambered out the window onto the roof in silence, and Beverly offered him a cigarette. He practically bit into it as she lighted it for him. They sat there in silence for a while. Beverly looked ahead towards the town, smoke framing her thoughtful face. 

"Richie, can I ask you a question?" 

"Can I stop you?" He felt his hands start to shake and he pulled at his shirt with tight closed fists, moonlight carving into his trembling knuckles. 

Beverly grinned, tapping a finger against her chin. She looked a little sad, somehow. 

"Richie, do you like boys?" 

The rooftop seemed so much steeper now. He gripped furiously in terrified breathless horror at the tiles, scrambling back, feeling himself sliding sliding sliding into the dark street below, into the sewers, into a blood red mouth glistening with row after row of broken glass teeth. 

He liked boys. 

"Richie, it's okay if you do. I ask because I want you to know that it's okay to tell me." 

He liked boys. 

"Hey, breathe. It's okay, you don't have to say anything. I won't say a word, I promise-" 

"I like boys", he said. He said. He'd said it. 

Beverly smiled. She was crying. He was crying too, he realised. She pulled him into a hug that felt like the first and only hug he'd ever had. 

"Please don't tell, please don't tell, please-", he hiccuped. Beverly only squeezed tighter. 

"I won't, Rich. I love you." 

"I love you too, Bevvie", he laughed wetly, before a new torrent of tears tackled him, "It's so unfair, it's so fucking-" 

"It is, it is, but it's okay. I love you. You're okay", she said softly. She didn't shush him, because she knew how that felt. How that stayed with you the next time you wanted to cry, "It's okay." 

Richie gulped and gulped and gulped down gallons of the air that squatted stagnant atop Bill's roof, heavy with past childish laughter and hidden cigarette buts. He felt it filling every crevice of his infinitely hollow body. He felt it leaving him just as quickly. 

"Richie, do you like Eddie?" She whispered into his shoulder. 

"What?" He was drowning, he was sure of it. He suddenly knew how Eddie felt when he was trembling so badly he couldn't even trigger his inhaler. Why would she ask that? Why would she think that? Was he that obvious? They all fucking knew, he was such a fucking joke _ do you like Eddie do you like do you like Eddie Eddie do you like Eddie you sick fucking filthy joke do you _

"Hey, hey, breathe, Rich. Breathe. I'm sorry for asking. Just breath, you're okay. I shouldn't have asked right now. You're okay", Beverly cradled him fiercely as Richie sobbed into her coppery hair. 

They stayed like that till the cigarettes lost their amber hearts and Ben knocked lightly on the windowpane. 

"Hey, guys- oh, um. Oh! Richie, are you okay?" 

He fumbled to climb out beside them as Richie aggressively wiped his face, thankful that his breath had evened out, and Beverly leaned back until she only had an arm loosely around his neck. 

"He's okay", she said. 

"Are you-"

"He's okay, Ben", she smiled, reaching out a freckled hand. Ben hesitated but silently took it, pulling both of them up. They gingerly climbed their way back inside. 

"Hey, fuckers, we're back", croaked Richie, quite convincingly, he thought. 

Eddie scrambled off the bed and rushed at Richie, grasping his face between his hands and studying him closely. 

"Uh…", he pushed him away feverishly. Richie really didn't want to have to explain why he was about to throw up all over him. 

"Are you guys high right now? What the fuck?" 

Eddie leaned over to squint at Bev and her equally red puffy eyes. She smiled guiltily, shrugging. 

"I cannot fucking _ believe _ you right now, Richie", he pulled him towards the bed angrily, "I cannot believe you'd get _ high _ during a _ sleepover _." 

"What, you wanted to try some, Eds?" He grinned weakly. 

"I'm asthmatic, jackass", he pushed him in the chest and Richie allowed himself to fall onto the bed with a laugh. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! Hope you liked it!!
> 
> Comments and kudos are lovely lovely lovely I feed off stranger's validation thank you :) 
> 
> Anyway this was a little hard to write but surprisingly therapeutic, so that's good? I hope it wasn't hard to read for anyone with a similar experience (everything sorts itself out one way or another, promise, even if sometimes it isn't what you want or expect at the time ❤️). 
> 
> I updated this chapter really quickly because I already had it written, but the next one might take quite a while longer, it depends on my schoolwork. Please be patient with me I'm a chronic procrastinator with a lot of daily work to do aaaa 
> 
> Thank you!! :) 
> 
> Tumblr: local-cryptid-writer

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it, chapter two should be up really soon! 
> 
> Tumblr: local-cryptid-writer 
> 
> I've got two Good Omens fics if you want to check them out :) 
> 
> Thank you for reading!! Kudos and comments are of course really appreciated ❤️


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